by E. C. Blake
The latter puzzled Mara, too. Hyram showed them to her, on the far side of the cove from the main part of the Secret City, carved out of the rock like everything else. But they were empty of horses, if not of their smell. She looked back across the cove. The thick fog of morning had burned away, and now bright sunshine poured down on the land between the two cliffs. People were moving out there, busy with various tasks—pulling turnips from vegetable patches, arranging fish on drying racks—but there were no horses. “Where are they?” she asked. “The horses?”
Hyram shrugged. “Gone. The raiding party has already set off, and the other companies are on patrol.”
“They all went out the ravine?” Mara asked. “But we’ve been crisscrossing the cove for an hour and I never saw them.”
“The ravine’s not the only way into the Secret City,” Hyram said. He took her down to the water’s edge. “Look,” he said, pointing north along the shore. She tore her eyes away from the endlessly fascinating, endlessly repeating lines of surf and saw that the cliffs did not rise directly from the water: instead, a narrow sliver of level sand ran beneath them. She looked south; the beach ran in that direction, too. “High water now,” Hyram said. “At low water, it’s a lot broader. But even at high water you can ride along it.” And sure enough, looking closely, she saw signs of horses’ passage in the portion of the sand that had not recently been pounded flat by the breakers.
“There are paths up from the beach to the top of the cliff,” Hyram continued. “You’d be hard-pressed to find them up above, though, without knowing exactly where they are. Most are only footpaths, but there’s one that horses can manage. It leads up to the farmland I told you about. If you’d been here last week, we’d have been in the middle of harvest.”
Mara looked out to sea. “The Secret City may be hard to find from land,” she said, “but it certainly isn’t hidden from the water. What about boats?”
Hyram shrugged again. “In my whole life, the only boats I’ve ever seen out there are ours,” he said. “Stony Beach is the nearest village and their fishermen don’t come this far north. There are dangerous rocks and shallows along the coast south of us.”
“That doesn’t mean one won’t show up tomorrow,” Mara said.
“We have plans for such an eventuality,” Hyram said. “But I doubt they’ll ever be needed.” He clapped his hands. “Now. You’ve seen everything except the source of our gold. This way.”
He led her north along the beach. It narrowed rapidly, and Mara looked uneasily at the waves rolling in to her left. “Does the water ever come this high?” she ventured, as an extra-large breaker spent itself at her feet.
“In storms,” Hyram said. “But remember, it’s high tide now. The water will be receding for the rest of the day. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be swept away.” He grinned. “Well, not by the water.”
Mara felt herself blushing again. Stop that! It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being a boy. But she stayed silent for the rest of the walk, which ended in—why was she not surprised?—yet another cave.
Stepping from sunlight into darkness, at first she couldn’t see anything; but her eyes quickly adjusted—and then widened. White rock veined the cavern’s walls, and within that rock glistened . . .
“Is that really gold?” she breathed.
Hyram nodded, as proud as if he’d put it there himself. “It really is. Before we found it, when my father was a boy, things were a lot grimmer in the Secret City. Nothing could be bought; very little could be stolen without risk; the unMasked Army had to live entirely on what it could grow, hunt, or fish. Which we still mostly do, but things are easier now that we can at least occasionally purchase tools and things we can’t make, like wine.”
Or the fine furniture in Catilla’s room, Mara thought, but didn’t say. “And the Autarch knows nothing of this?” She didn’t try to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“Rumors of black market dealings in the remote villages may have reached his elevated ears,” Hyram said, “but I doubt it. The Autarch does not, by all accounts, personally concern himself much with anything that happens outside the walls of Tamita. He leaves that to his Watchers, and out here, his Watchers are mostly fat and lazy. We can’t prove it, but we think they’re mostly unGifted: they can’t read Masks, all they care about is that they haven’t cracked. So they let little things slide.” He snorted. “The Autarch has become too dependent on the Masks, my father says. The Autarch and his Circle think that because the Masks will reveal to the Watchers anyone who might act against them, they’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“No,” Mara said; because, suddenly, she thought she understood. “They don’t think that at all. And that’s why the Masks have changed.”
Hyram turned from running a finger along one of the seams of gold. “What?”
“The Masks are changing people . . . changing the way they think. They didn’t used to. So that means the Autarch is worried. Maybe he’s been listening to the rumors about the unMasked Army. Maybe he’s beginning to think you’re real. Maybe he’s just old and scared he’s going to end up like his father. So he’s changed the Masks to force everyone to be loyal. Even though it means more Maskings are failing.” And Father knew it, she thought. He must have. He’s been making these new kinds of Masks. He wouldn’t have any choice but to comply. The one he made for Sala . . .
...and the one he made for me.
And suddenly, belatedly, she thought she understood why her father had seemed so strangely distant during the days leading up to her Masking. He’d known the Mask he was making would change his daughter forever, take away her freedom of thought, make her no more than a compliant cog in the machinery of the Autarch’s state . . .
...and so he deliberately made a Mask that would fail! He thought I’d be better off unMasked than forced into the mold the Autarch wanted.
Better off suffering whatever horrible fate awaited me at the labor camp? she thought angrily. Better off in the hands of that fat spider drawing naked girls in the warehouse by the walls? By making your Mask fail, he put you in that wagon with Grute, heading to a whole camp full of Grutes! He didn’t know you would be rescued.
Or did he?
“Are you all right?” Hyram asked, and she realized she’d been staring blankly off into space, for several seconds.
“Yes,” Mara said automatically. Then, “No.” Then, “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s just . . . can we go back now? I’ve seen enough.”
Hyram nodded. They walked back to the Secret City in silence. Once they were in the Broad Way, Mara said, “Thank you for the tour. I think I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Of course,” Hyram said. “I—”
Tishka suddenly dashed in from outside, flushed and out of breath. “Hyram, you were walking along the beach. Did you see Grute?”
“Grute?” Hyram looked confused. “That sack of horse shit my father dragged back? Of course not. He’s locked up.”
Tishka shook her head. “He was locked up,” she panted. “He’s escaped.”
“How?”
“Pulled the door right off its hinges. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
“Nobody was guarding him?” Mara demanded.
“He was locked up,” Tishka repeated. “We didn’t think we needed to guard him, too.” But she looked a little shamefaced. “We don’t usually have prisoners here. In fact we’ve never had a prisoner here. He was just locked up in one of the small storerooms. And bags of meal don’t try to escape.”
Mara looked around uneasily. “He could be anywhere.”
“He’s not in the Secret City,” Tishka reassured her. “We’ve searched every room and hallway, all the way down to the lake. He’s out there, somewhere.” She waved toward the tunnel entrance.
“But he knows where the Secret City is!” Hyra
m exclaimed. “If he tells the Watchers—”
“You think nobody else has thought of that?” Tishka snapped. “Jarl has the garrison out looking for him, but with so many out on patrol or off to Stony Beach we need everyone we can get. So—”
“Of course,” said Hyram. He gave Mara a quick, worried smile. “Duty calls.” Then he rushed off with Tishka, back out into daylight.
Mara stared after them. Grute on the loose again, she thought. You had to hand it to him. He might be a “sack of horse shit”—she wasn’t about to argue with that description—but he was certainly resourceful.
But the risk to the Secret City if he got away . . . She shuddered. The village Watchers might be fat and lazy, but the ones in Tamita most assuredly weren’t, especially the Autarch’s elite Sun Guards. They were said to have magic capable of wiping an entire village off the map. The unMasked Army would stand small chance against them. If Grute revealed the Secret City’s existence, and even its approximate location, they’d have no choice but to run.
Run where? Mara wondered, and had no answer.
She climbed up to the girls’ room. It was empty; she still didn’t know where the others were. Probably doing chores somewhere, she thought; she didn’t get the feeling anyone was allowed to sit around feeling sorry for themselves in the Secret City.
Except, apparently, her.
She had been longing for one thing since they’d arrived, one thing that had always made her feel better, one thing, she hoped, that might also help her think more clearly.
She was going to take a bath.
She grabbed the towel that had appeared with her clean clothes that morning, and descended to the Broad Way.
For a moment she hesitated, looking up and down its length, a little uneasy at being alone when Grute was at large. Tishka had said they’d searched the entire City, right down to the lake where she was headed, but still . . .
Maybe I should wait, she thought, but then she caught a whiff of herself, wrinkled her nose, and decided she really couldn’t, not and live with herself. What must Hyram have thought? she wondered, and blushed again.
That settled it. Grute or no Grute, she had to have a bath.
She headed down the tunnel.
ELEVEN
Kidnapped
SHE MET NO ONE along the way, and that suited her fine. She really, really wanted the bath for its own sake—she was tired of her own scent following her around like a stinky stray puppy—but she also wanted it for a chance to be alone with herself and her thoughts.
The lanterns still glowed on their poles near the entrance to the vast water-filled chamber. More lamps burned to left and right along the shore. Mara listened carefully. Even though she had seen that the men’s and women’s bathing areas were separated and completely out of sight from one another, the thought of bathing when there were naked men splashing around within earshot, even if she couldn’t see them, made her uneasy. She peered into the darkness at the far side of the lake. Nothing disturbed the water: it could have been a single, enormous sheet of glass.
Finally feeling certain she was quite alone, she went around the corner to the girls’ bathing area, put her towel and soap down on the rock, slipped out of her boots and clothes, picked up her soap again, and waded into the surprisingly warm water.
She sighed as the liquid wrapped itself around her limbs. She scrubbed herself thoroughly with the crude soap until her skin tingled, then plunged her head under the water and worked more of the soap into a lather in her hair, running her fingers through it over and over again until all the tangles were gone. Finally she ducked her head once more and scrubbed her scalp again to rinse the soap away.
Clean at last, she tossed the soap onto the rocky shore, put her head back, and let her feet come off the stony floor. With her ears underwater, all she could hear was the low rumble of her own blood coursing through her veins. She closed her eyes.
Floating free, only her own body and thoughts for company, she felt completely disconnected from the world. Still, she’d felt that way now for several days, ever since the horror of the Masking. That moment of blood and terror had removed her from her old life as abruptly—and painfully—as a blade amputating a limb. Her parents, the center of her short life, had been ripped away and were now separated from her by an impassable gulf. More than just her face had been crushed and mutilated by the horrible twisting of the failed Mask. So had her plans, her hopes, her dreams—everything that had defined who and what she was. She’d gotten her face back, thanks to Ethelda, but she would never get her old life back.
So I guess I’ll have to make do with this new life, she thought, floating in the underground lake with her eyes closed. And my new family. Keltan. Simona and Kirika. Alita and Prella and Hyram. Edrik and, I guess, Catilla. There’s no going back.
And if there’s no going back, then there should be no looking back. It doesn’t do me any good to pine for Daddy and Mommy and Stoofy and everything else the Masking stole from me. I can’t get them back. Ever. The Autarch has seen to that.
If the unMasked Army hadn’t grabbed me on Catilla’s orders, who knows what would be happening to me, or about to happen to me, in the labor camp? So why am I resisting what she wants from me? It’s stupid. I should do everything I can to help the unMasked Army try to get rid of the Autarch, even if it seems impossible. Because they’re all I have now. If they fail—if the Autarch finds and destroys them—then he will destroy me, too. And there will be no one to rescue me a second time.
She took a deep breath. So be it. I’ll—
Someone grabbed her ankle.
She jackknifed, went under, gulped water, then surged to the surface, spluttering. Her sudden movement had pulled her ankle free, but as she straightened someone seized her arm and twisted it behind her. A thick arm crushed her breasts and pinned her tight against a hard, muscular body. “Guess who?” said a voice in her ear, and she stiffened in terror.
Grute!
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. It was a stupid question, but she couldn’t believe that she was literally in his grasp. Naked and in his grasp, a part of her mind reminded her, but modesty seemed the least of her concerns. “They searched the Secret City! They said you’d fled outside—”
“Left some clues so they’d think that,” Grute said. “And spent the night making this.” He released the arm behind her back, but kept her pressed so tightly against him she still couldn’t move. She could feel him fumbling in his pocket; then he held in front of her eyes a glistening cylinder: a candle, she realized, carefully hollowed out to make a tube. “Broke the door, dropped some bits of it along the Broad Way in the direction of the entrance, then turned around and came this way; popped myself under the water and breathed through this until they went away.” He tossed the tube aside; it hit the water with a splash. “Deep in the heart of the ‘Secret City.’” He snorted. “Won’t be much of a secret once I get to the labor camp. Won’t be much of a city, either, not long after that!”
“You’re crazy if you think you can get out of here without being seen,” Mara said.
“Oh, I can get out of here,” he said. “Count on it. And you’re coming with me.”
“I’m not—”
Grute barked a laugh. “You are. Didn’t plan on it before, but since you plopped right into my hands . . .” He propelled her toward the shore, never letting go. Once they’d waded up onto the rocks, he shoved her toward her clothes so hard she splashed onto her hands and knees in the shallows. She glared back at him. He wore the green and brown clothes the unMasked Army had provided, sodden and dripping. “Get dressed,” he said.
“I’m surprised you wouldn’t rather keep me naked,” Mara said defiantly, but she scrambled to her feet and snatched up her clothes just the same, holding them in front of her.
“Too cold in the woods,” Grute said. “I want you healthy when we get wh
ere we’re going.” He snorted. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve got a lot to look at.”
Mara blushed at that, then was furious at herself for blushing, especially when there wasn’t the slightest possibility of hiding it. She dressed slowly, hoping someone else would enter, but Grute stepped forward and yanked her hair so hard she gasped. “Stop dawdling,” he growled.
Defeated, she pulled on her boots and turned to face him. “You can’t get out of here without going down the Broad Way,” she said. “Someone will see you. And this time they’ll hang you.”
Grute laughed. “Do I look like an idiot? I wouldn’t have come down here if I hadn’t known I could get out.” His grin faded. “And it’s time we were getting.” He strode forward, seized her arm, and half-dragged her along the shore. They passed the opening into the Broad Way. Mara looked down it, hoping someone else might be coming for a bath or fresh water, but the passage was empty as far as she could see.
“Don’t even think about screaming,” Grute breathed in her ear. “No one will hear you, and then I’ll kill you.”
He’s only a boy, she told herself. He’s the same age as me.
She believed his threat all the same.
He dragged her past the men’s bathing area, and kept going, splashing into the lake and wading through its shallows. She heard a rushing noise; and then, in the flickering shadows ahead, saw a dark opening, water from the lake pouring into it. “You’re insane!” she whispered. “You can’t mean—”
“Yes, I can,” Grute said.
“In the dark? You don’t even know where it comes out—”
“Yes, I do,” Grute said. “It pours out into the ocean a half mile from here, out of sight from the cove.”
Mara blinked. “How?”
“I asked.” Even in the near-darkness, she could see his smirk. “No harm telling the prisoner something like that.”
Mara said nothing. Her mouth had gone dry; her heart raced. “I’ll drown,” she whispered. “I can’t swim.”
